


The Persistence of Vision

by roxymissrose



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-26 00:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxymissrose/pseuds/roxymissrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whitney subjects Clark to the scarecrow treatment and suffers consequences.</p><p>Originally posted 9-24-2007 for the lexslash "Anyone But Clark" challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Persistence of Vision

Chapter One

I  
 _Damp ground seeped cold through the knees of his jeans—he pulled his shirt over his head and it was yanked out of his hands._

 _"The pants—let's go. Now."_

 _Clark dropped back on his ass and unlaced his boots, pulled socks off and unbuttoned his jeans. Stopped. "No."_

 _"Yes. Take 'em off or we'll do it for you."_

 _Clark blushed deep deep red, and started to pull the jeans down again, stopped again…_

 _"If you want to keep the boxers, you better speed it up." Nasty laughter drifted in the dark. Clark was trying his best not to see faces. He stood and dropped his pants, stepped away from them. He shivered, gripped the waist band of his boxers._

* * * *

"Wait, don't tie him up yet…"

Whit wanted to leave. He began edging towards the back of the crowd, away from the sight of Clark being pushed against the post of the wooden T frame… Clark looked like he was going to throw up. Big red S smeared across his chest and Lana's necklace around his neck, he looked greasy and sick and just kind of pathetic, not at all what Whit had expected. Clark's ribs looked like they were about to slash through his skin—his chest jerked up and down as he tried to breathe. His shorts were ripped….

Whit had never wondered, or wanted to see, what Clark looked like under his clothes, but he was finding it hard to pull his eyes away.

The taunts were getting nastier, getting physical, the air was changing….

He stayed until the boy began to scream.

Clark wasn't his responsibility.

* * * * *

 

II  
Whitney found a note on the windshield of his truck.

 _everyone thinks they know what happened in the field. But we know better_

Whit grimaced, balled the paper tight as he could and tossed it. Nothing happened in the field—not for him. He put a necklace on the boy, that was all he did. He wasn't responsible for anything else. It wasn't his fault.

The next note he found made his back prickle with sweat, his stomach lurch. This time instead of balling the note up, he read every word carefully, stared at the handwriting. He didn't recognize it. The paper was…odd. Different. It had weight; it felt almost velvety against his palm.

 _No one is talking about the incident. No one else knows but you and Clark and whoever else was there._

The boys who'd been in the field that night found life becoming more difficult for them…a lost scholarship, a parent out of work, an injury guaranteed to sideline a player permanently….

The next note Whit found had some kind of mark imbedded in the paper and the ink used to write the brief note was thick and dark violet.

 _you're responsible._

Whit ripped the note into cream colored confetti, and threw it into the air. Drifts of shredded paper landed on his shoulders, the pavement. He didn't need a name to know who was leaving expensive notes on his car.

Another day, another note appeared on his windshield…he picked up the note and rolled it between his palms, crumbled it, threw it under the seat. He briefly considered burning it.

 _I'm coming for you._

It should have been laughable, but there was nothing funny about the intent behind it. Whit put his hands over his face and sighed. His hands smelled good—the note held a bit of the scent the person who wrote it wore. He leaned against the side of his truck and inhaled again. He looked down the main street, up the main street—it was strangely empty for a Saturday afternoon. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and wondered if Luthor was going to get him through his parents or come for him personally.

* * * *

A shadow fell across his table and he found himself looking up into that Luthor guy's face, Kent's good friend. He was smiling at him.

"Whitney Fordman. I want to talk to you."

Whit shook his head. "I don’t want to talk to you." He looked towards the door of the Beanery, Lex sat down anyway.

"I want to talk about Clark." He leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs out and tapped Whit's sneaker with his boot. "You see, Clark is a friend of mine. I don’t like when my friends are hurt, and I really feel that in this instance, I need to take action—for Clark, for future freshmen—but mostly, for me…" He smiled, a smile so sweet, it made Whit shiver inside.

Whit shook his head, and Lex leaned forward. "Don't fuck with me, Fordman. I have very little patience. I use up the meager store I have during business hours. Now. Get up, and get your ass in my car."

Whit stared at him, fear beginning to tinge the anger he felt. "What the fuck—no."

Luthor looked totally relaxed, even managed to make the wire chair he sat in look comfortable. With a warm chuckle, he said, "Let's not waste time fencing. You remember that you're talking to someone who doesn't own Smallville simply because he's not _interested_ in owning it…understand?" He stared into Whit's eyes, a long and unblinking look that felt like Lex was searching his soul. Whit knew he saw the festering stew of guilt and self-blame and fear that filled him. He tore his eyes away from Lex's and stared at the patterns in the marble table top. Lex's voice was soft and kind when he spoke again.

"Whitney…get in the car." His eyes were strangely warm, so was the hand over his. It tightened, and Whit nodded, followed him out to the parking lot. What else could he do?

The ride to the Luthor mansion was silent—nothing broke the quiet until Lex pulled his car into a garage that was bigger than Whit's whole house. He said, "You have to tell me everything. I promise, you'll feel much better when you've unburdened yourself." Again Lex was silent, walking away without checking to see if Whit followed. Whit climbed out of the low vehicle and swallowed hard. Nerves made his mouth dry—fear made his mouth dry. He had no idea what was in store for him but the look into Lex's eyes had warned him, it was bound to be unpleasant. Maybe he deserved it to be.

* * * * *

"Who did it? No one is talking…I'd like to know who actually participated and to what degree in case I change my mind about being merciful."

Whit shook his head fearfully, remembering the elegant threatening notes that held not the slightest promise of mercy in them. "You—you ruined them—all of them, the boys on the team. The ones in the cornfield..."

"All of them? Not you. No, you're special." Lex moved around his office, and Whit watched him warily. He was living some Discovery Channel episode, one where the lions stalk and kill a gazelle, moaning with bloody jaws into the night. Lex smelled like expensive cologne, but it was easy to imagine him smelling of blood.

Lex set a short thick glass in front of him, and golden liquid coated the insides as he tilted it. He sniffed and the scent was sharp and bitter, and it tasted of sharp and bitter, and followed with a burst of sweet heat in his mouth, throat. He drank all of it, sad when there was no more and now Lex's complete attention was on him.

It burned as well.

"You're responsible." He stopped Whit's automatic protest. "You're the captain…the leader. A leader is always responsible for the actions of his subordinates. His…team." Whit watched Lex move like silk, his voice was smooth and light, velvety…his hands were like birds, graceful in their movements…Whit's eyes tracked them; he reached out with both his own hands to capture them. They lay in his, warm and smooth and alive, he felt the blood move under the skin, the beat of it echoed the beat of his heart. The harsh expression on Lex's face changed, becoming almost sympathetic. Lex leaned closer; his breath was warm and sweet. "Tell me everything Whitney. You want to do that, don’t you?"

 _Yes…_

"What really happened Whit, and don’t forget, you're safe—no one else can hurt you here." Lex slipped his hands free and cupped Whit's face, and Whitney told Lex what happened to Clark, tears ran down his cheeks, his voice broke as he told Lex everything that happened to Clark.

 

"…and then they—they made him do humiliating things…"

"Like what?" Lex's voice was kind and patient, loving--his hands stroked Whit's cheek, thumb wiping wet from his cheekbones…"What did they do?"

"They—made him use--mouth, his mouth, they forced him, and they made him beg them—to—to--come on him, and…"

"And?" The gentle touch, the kind voice, encouraged Whit; he lifted his heavy, heavy head, and moaned.

"They took turns with him. A couple of the guys and me, we left when they started that. It was bad. It was horrible. We ran."

Lex's thin fingers tightened on Whit's jaw, "It was rape," he said, sounding a little distant, thoughtful….

Whit nodded. "Rape." His vision narrowed to a sliver of awareness, he saw only Lex's eyes, icy gray and burning inside, on fire… his eyes were drifting shut, he was warm, floating, safe. Lex spoke and the voice came from far way. Whitney heard, "But you did nothing to stop it."

The room was spinning, dipping up and down, safety fled, warmth fled…Whit groaned, his guilt so intense it was pain. "Nothing. I did nothing."

Spinning in the velvety dark, and the only thing real was Lex's voice in his ear, moist, hot and Lex's fingers, as they tipped his jaw down, slid into his mouth. Whit tasted salt, felt the edge of Lex's nail on the tender inside of his lower lip. "Open up, Whitney."

Whitney gratefully dropped his jaw. Lex would help him atone….

 

III  
Whit woke up feeling like he did after a tough game. Sore, aching…he felt clammy and sticky at once. He wrinkled his nose. He smelled. He tried to lift his arm, and realized he was stretched across Lex's couch, too heavy to move, too tired. All around him was a low constant whisper of sound--talking, someone was talking, and the voice made his stomach flip and tighten. He forced his eyes open, and Lex was in his line of sight.

"Retribution, Whitney--"

 _do you like this?_

"--do you know what that is?"

 _you do, don’t you?_

"Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord--"

Whit's head pounded, and his tongue felt thick and wooly in his mouth, he wanted to argue, tell Lex that he'd got the meaning wrong…

 _that's it. Slow, deep…use your tongue…_

"--for what you did to Clark."

 _I'm going to come…ask me. Ask me for it._

"You took away his trust, his innocence, his virginity…"

 _you are a slut. You like that, don’t you._

"You know, I planned on taking that for myself."

Whit finally felt his brain come together and focus…enough to wonder if he heard Lex right. Before he could move, Lex reached down and pulled Whit upright by his collar and pointed him towards a big screen he hadn’t noticed before he fell asleep…he had fallen asleep, hadn't he?

"Look."

The image flickered in and out from grainy to sharp, the lighting was bad, but sufficient to reveal a man on his knees, his face upturned and eyes closed, his lips were parted in a way that made Whit think of communion, and he cringed. The face on the screen was stippled with pearly drops of come, his chest …one hand was wrapped around his cock. Whit reached down and almost touched himself, felt the echo of a deep ache and…"No. That's not possible. It's not real."

"Oh, sometimes all a person needs is a little push. A little helping hand. I'm very good at that—lending a helping hand."

The scene changed—the cut was jerky and amateurish and Whit had the feeling it was deliberate. Now the man on the screen was bent over a non-descript couch. Hands rested on his ass, slid around to pull him open and pushed oil shiny fingers inside. Whit's ass. Whitney watched himself push back onto the long fingers, moaning and groaning, begging for more. The voice asked, "Does it hurt?"

"Yes," his voice answered, and Whit was shocked at the depth of need in his voice, it was…he couldn't believe he could sound like that, so raw, so wanting. He shivered…even as stiff and sore as he was, his cock tried to lift. Looking at himself, at this impossible angle…it was like looking at a stranger—would be but Lex wouldn't let him forget.

"Your ass was tight, like a glove. Hot. You just sucked me in…"

 _"It hurts. Don’t stop. Don't, don’t stop…"_

Whit closed his eyes but the fucking film was like a train wreck—he had to see.

A chuckle floated in the air, and Whit whipped his head towards Lex, who wasn't laughing, but he was smiling. "You son of a bitch—you fucking drugged me—you raped me--"

"Don’t be ridiculous. Look at yourself, Whitney," he pointed, and Whit dragged reluctant eyes back to the screen. "You're doing all the work--you're fucking yourself on my dick like a bitch in heat. How is that me forcing you? How is that anywhere near what it was for Clark?"

Lex sat next to him, and grabbed him high on the thigh, his grip was painful, he was much stronger than Whit expected. He shuddered, tried to turn his head away and Lex slapped him. The sound was like a crack of thunder, his head rocked back and the slap shocked him fully awake. "I asked you, do you think Clark acted like that?" His fingers dug into Whit's chin, and jerked him around to face the screen, Whit had to watch himself, squirming, writhing back against Lex, moaning. " _Answer_ me, damn it."

Whit's cheek burned, his vision blurred. He stammered out, "No. No, not Clark. He cried…"

Lex said, "He told me he cried." He pushed Whit flat on the couch. "This is just a start."

"I'll tell my parents, tell the police…"

"Tell them what? That you came to my house to get fucked?" Lex pointed the remote at the screen, raised the sound. The liquid sound of Lex's cock churning in his ass filled the room, and his begging for more, and his gasps and groans, the howl he let loose when Lex told him he was coming, when he came himself…

"How did you make me do that—how, what drug?"

Lex shook his head. "This part you have to remember, Whitney. When I call you, you come. No excuses, no waiting, or this show will be all over town. You'll be known for what you really are."

"But—but—you can't. You're on these films too. Everyone will know."

"Maybe, maybe not. I mean, where is this taking place, Whit? What clues…what reveals where this is taking place?" Lex ran a finger over his upper lip, traced the satisfied upward curve of his mouth. "As for them knowing—isn't this just what they expect of me? My reputation can’t suffer, except for going from bad to worse. In Smallville, I'm the Devil, in Metropolis, I'm eccentric and slightly…" He leaned forward and licked the spot on Whit's cheek that burned still. "…slightly deviant. And above all—I'm really stinking rich."

Whit watched. Lex was right. There was no way to tell where he was, or who he was with. The main focus on the screen was him, on his knees, licking and sucking Lex's cock like he fucking needed it to live. The back ground was dim and featureless. The floor under his knees looked like generic industrial tile—the walls behind him gray painted dry wall, the only thing completely identifiable was himself. Himself, red-faced, and slimy with come and looking a lot like Clark had looked that night except…he was enjoying it….

Whit closed his eyes and moaned. "God, I hate you so much, you fucking bastard."

"Sit up." Lex jerked him upright, pulled him to his feet and unbuttoned his trousers again. He jabbed Whit painfully between his shoulder blades and hissed, "Spread your legs and grab the couch back." Whit did as he asked, he felt weak and drained, so small and he didn't even question that he obeyed Lex without a word…

He gasped as pain bloomed outward from where it centered in his ass. It grew and grew—not unbearable but inescapable, he was being entered, filled again, and his cock grew harder—it wasn't right. Pain transformed into burn, became fullness, heavy and hot inside of him. It moved in and out, and Whit dropped his head and gasped. Vibrations rolled through him and whited out his brain, his eyes rolled back and he almost fell to his knees. Whimpers he couldn't hold back filled his ears, his head dropped to the soft leather couch back. "Oh. God…God…"

A crack of pain ripped him back into the world. Lex swatted his ass again. "Shut up, I have a call to make."

Whit shivered and jerked on the couch and bit his lips, tears leaked out of his eyes as Lex talked to Clark and screwed the vibrator in and out of his quivering ass.

"Clark—yes, it's me." Lex laughed quietly. "It's time for our nightly check in. How was your day? Oh, that's good, Clark. I'm so glad you've decided to go back to school now. I promise it will go well."

Lex's voice was smooth, kind, concerned, never changing, and he drew nails down Whit's legs, pinched bright red weals on his skin…Whit sobbed and shook into the couch pillows, fucked frantically in and out of the hand Lex squeezed around his cock…"No, Clark you're not disturbing me, I was just watching movies. Yes, it is a slow night." Lex's hand on the vibrator jammed forward, sinking more of it into Whitney, Whit drew in a deep shaking breath and let go—silently, needing it, and hating it at once….

He turned his head and caught Lex staring at him, lip drawn back in a snarl, and still, his voice was soft and light as he spoke to Clark. "Go to sleep Clark, I'll call you tomorrow. Good night."

He stood and sneered at Whitney, "You get dressed and get out. I'll call you when I need you."

Chapter Two

I  
Whitney spent days in a haze of hatred and anger. He hated Lex Luthor with a passion that made him weak. He thought of revenge--planned it with all the fervor and passion he used to reserve for fantasizing--the revenge he'd take on Lex and Clark because if Lex wasn't obsessed with Clark, Whit wouldn't have to suffer. If Clark had fought back, tried to protect himself….

He waited, it was coming, Lex wouldn't let it go, not like this--he raced for the phone every time it rang, desperate to intercept it, wondering how he would explain to his parents why he was suddenly getting phone calls from Lex Luthor. He worried day and night, dreading Lex's demands, fearing his demands. Days passed, and none came, no word from him and Whit began to unwind. Tentatively, gradually, he let himself believe that it was over. He was safe.

Lex had been satisfied with his humiliation--Lex wasn't going to call. He'd paid the price for Clark's pain. All he had to do now was live with what had happened—just like Clark.

Lex was done with him. He'd been granted reprieve….

Reprieve. What an idiot.

This was Lex Luthor. Lex who had no off button Luthor. Lex wasn't finished, he hadn’t even started. No, Lex was going to contact him in a way that would cause the maximum humiliation.

Whit figured the best he could do was damage control. He checked the mail every day--he woke before his parents and looked for expensive notepaper tucked under the wipers of the cars, or tucked under the door mat, or slid in the door frame…the need for constant vigilance wore him down, leached energy. Made him miserable.

Whit felt like he was being chipped away, bit by bit. On the other hand, Clark Kent seemed to gain--slowly, shyly, Clark was making his way back. Back into school, back into the average kind of life of an average teenage boy. People stopped looking, and stopped looking away, and Clark gradually became just 'Clark' again and not 'that boy.'

Whit watched Clark and the lesson became clear. Day by day Clark stood a little taller, and day by day Whit felt like he was being drawn like wire, thinner and thinner and thinner. With it, understanding came.

All of it came together as he sat alone in a corner of the Talon and watched Clark carefully holding a cup of some nasty looking drink Lex bought him, watched him take a tentative sip and smile—it was a shy, wavering quirk of his lips, but it made Lex glow, and Whitney finally understood what it was he was meant to learn. For Lex, there was Clark--and there was the rest of the world. And the rest of the world barely measured up. He saw what Lex wanted him to see.

When Clark left, Whitney sat at his table, unable to move. He felt as if he was made of concrete and not flesh and bone. Lex weaved his way between the tables, coming slowly towards him. Lex bent over him and said clearly, coolly, "Get in the car."

 

The four words echoed, filled him like an answer to prayer. Thank God. The fear, the wait that had been steadily grinding him into nothing was over. He felt released…until he was in the front seat of the Porsche and buckled in. He tried to speak, beg for leniency. "Please, don't hurt me," he muttered, feeling like a fool, and Lex laughed.

Clark had begged, too.

Lex brought him to the castle, and he didn't waste time with drinks, there was no play at conversation and better, no accusations, confrontations of guilt.

What happened was straightforward. It was exactly what Lex said it would be. Pain. It was horrible, and mid altering. Pleasure. There was no way that Whitney could hide from his reaction.

Lex touched his skin, and he cried out. He touched him outside, and he touched him inside, and not one fucking bit of it was sweet, or tender. There was not anything about it that was like making love. Lex meant him to be humiliated--he was.

Some strange, horrible transformation was happening inside of him. Somehow Lex had stripped away all his defenses and guards, pulled everything away until all he'd left was a solid ball of want.

It hurt and it…comforted, somewhat. He knew where he stood, and why this happened.

Clark.

* * * * *

II  
Lights glowed against the dark night sky, wiping out the stars, the band competed with the roar of the crowd—it was chilly but he was burning up, sweating, felt like flying—

This was what drove Whit—coming off the field with the rest of the team like one victorious animal, drinking in the roar of the crowd, swimming through hands reaching out to him, being treated like heroes, wanted, sought after, valued—in the afternoon sun, at night under the field lights, in mud and cold and rain, this was what he loved.

Lex took that first, and twisted it, little by little.

Whit came to know how temporary all of it was, how quickly it could be taken, destroyed. He loved it more because of knowing. Those minutes were gifted him to savor. Even on this night when all his teammates were around him, and their win this evening made the night seem perfect, clear as a jewel, and opportunity limitless, he knew how fleeting it was and that it only took one word.

"Whitney."

The bubble burst, his little victory became pointless, with one word. One word, one look, and everything was nothing, this night, the people, the team, all less than nothing.

"Hey Whit, where you going?"

"No where, gotta go…" Lex was calling.

III  
Whitney decided his life was an inverted version of Clark's. Lex did for Whit exactly what he did for Clark, only with different expectations, and different emotions involved. He figured Lex got something out of making certain Whit's life was as normal seeming as…Clark's. Except of course, this boy, he fucked. This was the one he made crawl across his office floor and beg to be fucked, like he wanted Clark to do. But would never ask him to.

'I'll help you with that paper Whit and in return I'll want a blowjob. Dad's business having trouble? I think I can help there, and in return, I'll want you to sit on my dick…sure, I'll donate uniforms to the team and in return…'

'In return, I want to run your life.' Want to control every fucking thing from what he did and who he knew and…how he got off. How he got off.

* * * * *

"God, stop hurting me. Stop doing this." He was covered with sweat, come slicked, bitten and worried and bruised. He hadn't been able to undress in front of anyone in months. At home, he counted bruises in the mirror, obsessively touching, cataloging them. He pressed his own fingers into them, feeling them being made again. Jerk off and jam fingers against the sore points….

Lex laughed. "When you really want me to stop, maybe I will."

Whit cursed. Sometimes he thought the bastard could read minds.

Lex looped two fingers loosely in a ring around Whit's cock, stroked-teased him until Whit was bucking up hard into that loose hold, whining with frustration. "But I don't think you want me to stop. I think you still need it." Fingers mapped the veins tracing his cock; they felt the pulse of his blood. Whit watched him and barely stopped himself from begging…for the moment.

If he couldn’t speak, he had to move, or die--Whit threw his head back and forth on the pillow, sweat flinging from the wet mass of his hair, unable to touch himself because his arms were tied tight to the iron frame of Lex's bed. "I don't, I don't. You did this to me. I used to be happy. I did."

Lex stood and walked away. "I'm sure you were. I don't care."

Whit collapsed against the bed, his cock red and hard and leaking. "…bastard, bastard…I wish…" He closed his eyes and strained to orgasm, almost, almost, almost there…just like it always was with Lex.

IV  
"Whitney, the coach called today. You missed practice. Again. What happened? Your dad's angry. You know we're counting on you getting a scholarship. The store's not doing all that well. I might have to go back to full time work…."

Her words washed over him in a tide of senseless sound. Practice…damn it.

"Where were you after school, Whitney?"

"Mom, I felt bad today, I left early to come home, and then I felt too bad to drive, so I pulled off at the lake until I felt better, that's all."

"Why didn’t you tell the coach?"

"I don't know, Mom. I just—didn't."

"What are you going to tell your father?"

"Can't you talk to him, Mom?"

"Whitney…you've got to accept responsibility for your actions."

"Oh, Mom." You have no idea.

He was drowning, sinking without a trace….

V  
Light poured in through the windows of the study, purple and red scattered squares across the floor and Whit lay face up in the tinted glow, taut as a bow. Lex touched him and he jerked, the gag cutting into the corner of his lips, his tongue pushing against it uselessly. Lex's fingers stroked over the place inside him that sent electricity though his body, tortured him in a good way, made him dance on the edge. He fucked him with his hand and all the while spoke to his friend, the innocent, the wronged.

"I'm glad to hear school's going much better now. You haven't been by in a while. Let me know when you want to visit. I think I can promise you pizza—all right, I promise, pizza, no artichoke, no anchovies." Lex laughed, a warm caressing sound that made Whit shiver and arch his back. Lex frowned, twisted Whit's nipples, pulled until the pain made him curl in on himself and he couldn't hold back the tears squeezing out from under tight shut lids. Pre-come oozed over the hard muscles of his stomach. Lex's hand traced the sticky trail, smeared it into his trembling stomach and licked his fingertips clean.

"I'll talk to you later, Clark. Pleasant dreams." He disconnected, and unbuckled the gag. His thumb traced the red lines that the straps left on Whit's face. "Whitney." It sounded like the same voice he used for Clark, soft, tender, concerned. Whit closed his eyes. He knew, of all people he really knew, what a liar Lex was.

"Whitney." Lex eased inside of him, torturously slow. "Ah, Whit…" Fucked him like he was made of glass. He leaned into Lex's touch, and for a moment, it felt like…caring. A little. The way Lex curled over him. The way he groaned, shook when he came, the way his hands cupped his hips and his thumbs curled in and traced the groove of muscle along his hips. Whitney wanted to ask so badly, wanted to ask if Lex cared at all. Was it still punishment, because it felt like he'd gained some value in Lex's eyes.

It felt like that until Lex said, "You can go now."

Whit laughed, an explosive wild bark, high with anger, hatred of someone whom he had no defenses against. "What if he knew what you were doing while you talked to him? How much would he hate you, then?"

Lex dropped to his knees, grabbed a handful of hair and pulled Whit's head up so they were eye to eye. "I don’t know…how would he find out? What would happen to you if he did find out?" He dropped Whit's head and shook blonde hairs from his hands. "I said get out."

In the kitchen doorway, where Clark delivered fresh organic produce for Lex's staff, Lex handed Whit a few bills. "Here. Buy a new shirt. Get a haircut…get new shoes. Something."

Whit stared at the handful of bills, shoved them back at Lex. "Whores get paid."

"And your point--?"

Whit snarled and knocked Lex's hand aside, stalked out of the door. Behind him, he heard Lex call his name. "Whitney…" he turned to see Lex, mouth curved in that look of tolerant amusement, throw the bills into the air and shut the door. Whitney walked down the drive, and out to the road, he walked faster and faster until he was running, running all out, and his heart was hammering in his chest, his throat burned…he stumbled to the side of the road and knelt…he cursed and cursed when tears he couldn't stop flowed. Nothing. What was it Lex saw when he was looking at him?

Nothing. He saw nothing.

 

Chapter Three

I  
"Clark, Clark, it's all right, it is. I promise you, it will get better—and you know you can call me any time you need to."

Handcuffs pinched the skin inside his wrists and chaffed when he moved his hands. He was fairly certain Lex would loosen them if he said, but he kept quiet and watched Lex's face change, soften, as he talked to him. Him. The fucking Him that ruled his life. This fucking game of Lex's…maybe he should tell Clark what was happening, just to save Lex. Save Clark.

His arms were over his head, his knees were up and separated, opening him wide for Lex. He was hard, had been hard since Lex pinned him open in the bed, and now he had to listen to Lex talk to his boyfriend—his boyfriend too stupid to know what was going on. Lex sat on the edge of the bed, traced around the puckered ring of muscle, around and around….

His fingertip slid in and out and Whit jerked, groaned. In, out, twist, stretch and Whit fell out of the world. Fuck Clark, he wasn't here, he'd never be here and no matter what Lex said, he wanted Whit here. Needed him here. This spot was only ever going to be his…

Fingers slid in and moved and Whit dropped his head back and jerked again…Lex hit that spot again, and again, and Whit shuddered—every nerve was on fire. Electric sparks lit him. Lex's fingers inside him, around his cock, trailing fingers through the precome.

Lex's eyes were locked on him, tracking back and forth from his face, to his fingers in his ass. Their eyes met, and Whit groaned, pushed upwards to meet Lex's stroke and Lex eyelid's fluttered when Whit squeezed down around his fingers. When Lex answered whatever stupid question Clark asked him, he stuttered.

Whit heard him, smiled. Lex stuttered.

 

II  
The library was dark, and cool, and smelled of old paper and leather, a million applications of lemon polish. The old card catalog still stood against the back wall of the reading room, not performing any function now but to look scholarly. He sat in a sprung leather chair, one of a few scattered across the wooden plank flooring of the reading room—the only corner in the library that had yet to fall victim to remodeling.

The chair gripped him like a hug, and he nodded over the magazine in his lap. Sleep escaped him at home—at night. He slept sometimes after Lex. Slept. Passed out.

A shadow fell across the magazine, and Whit looked up with a wry smile, ready, but it was--"You."

Clark stared down at him. "When did you and Lex become friends?"

"Friends? We're not friends."

"You're over there a lot. I see you in his car." Whit watched his face, his open oh-so-readable face and it was written in every little line: 'you're over there and I'm not'. Clark. Whit smothered a smile. He didn't even know he was jealous.

"So? Sometimes he brings me there to work on the cars. Part time work--"

Clark scowled. "That doesn't make any sense…" he shook his head and walked away, Whit heard him say, "He knows what you did, why's he being nice to you…"

He sat in the chair, alone. What the hell was Lex doing? This game was starting to topple. Clark was going to be hurt, and if that happened, Whit wasn't sure where the game would stop.

He was pretty fucking sick of being a sacrifice to Clark's happiness...

III  
Lex drove and Whit sat next to him, far away as he could get in the small space, just the way Lex liked it. It was one of those nights that Lex would come and pick him up and they'd just drive around aimlessly, for hours sometimes. Sometimes, Lex would talk, about anything, life, history, his hopes…he'd talk to him sometimes like he'd forgotten who was in the car…sometimes, it was just a silent drive in the night, like it was tonight….

They drove past farmland in silence, the radio quietly playing something Lex picked for Clark or Clark had picked for him. Mixes he made at night in his room, no doubt, all full of confusion and repressed homoerotic longing—Whit laughed.

Lex reached over and turned the radio off.

"Why'd you do that?" Whit grinned. Lex reached over and wrapped leather clad fingers around his kneecap and squeezed. Whit groaned quietly and Lex said, "You need to remember what part you play in my life."

"I _am_ a major part of your life. Why can't you accept it? You'll never get---never..."

"You. You forget what you are here."

"Oh, go on, tell me how unimportant I am. Tell me and maybe I'll believe you."

They drove on in silence through the night.

IV  
Clark walked into the study with a smile. "Lex!"

"Clark!" Lex imitated Clark's tone of voice, effected a look of surprise and Clark grinned wider.

"They told me you were working in the study. Gee, you really need to lighten up, you know? Take a break from time to time."

"Well," Lex smiled, "I'm wondering how it is that you have so much free time, for all the chores you have to do, plus school work."

Clark blushed and looked away. "It's…not that much work."

Lex's face closed down. "Of course not."

Clark offered compromise, and an apology. "Can we—do you feel like a game of pool?"

"Actually, that sounds perfect." And Lex forgave him again. "Whit, when you're done here, make sure you take your equipment with you."

"Sure, Lex. We can work out those…kinks later."

Clark jerked in surprise, and looked into the corner where Whit stood, clutching a gym bag and sneering.

"Whit's helping me with weight training, and I'm helping him." Lex shrugged, didn't explain what he was helping Whit with, and Clark didn’t ask. He looked over his shoulder, one quick glance as he walked out of the study. Whit was staring at the floor…

* * * * *

Chapter Four

I  
Whit was sitting near the property entrance when Lex's Porsche rolled up and stopped, idling at the closed gates. He stared at Whit for a long moment, and then indicated he should get in the car.

"Whitney…what are you doing here? I didn't call."

"You haven’t for a few days. I…I figured…to check. On you."

"I'm touched." The gates opened and he drove through. After a few seconds he said. "Whitney…have you ever tried to find a way in, squeeze past the bars…?"

Whit laughed. "You can’t squeeze past these bars. Not unless you have a cartoon fence. And your fucking guys won't let me in, even though I've been coming here almost a year—a year, Lex. They act like they don’t know me, like I've never been here, every damn time. But Clark—he walks up to the door like he owns the fucking place." He stared at Lex. "If I tried to walk in unannounced, I'd get shot, hunh?"

When they came to a stop, Whit jumped out of the car. "So, what's going to happen now? What will you do to me for showing up unannounced?"

Lex walked past him without a word, and Whit followed because he didn’t know what else to do.

They were in his entertainment room before Lex spoke again. Whit looked around at the huge room…he'd never seen it before. Lex's study, his bedroom, the back door…he smiled crookedly, and swallowed the sharp lump in his throat. Clark had never seen his bedroom…never would.

"I'll leave instructions that when you come to the gate, they alert me." Lex threw his gloves and jacket across the back of the huge couch dominating the room. One glove landed in a half-empty bowl of pop-corn.

Whit didn’t say, that's all? He gets to walk all over your property, but you're going to let me be _announced?_ He didn’t say a word, not when Lex yanked the Sharks sweatshirt he was wearing over his head and threw it to join the jacket and gloves, not when Lex pulled his jeans down or when he folded him over the coffee table. Not once while Lex fucked him slowly, rubbing his cock all over the slick glass surface, through the pre-come he leaked on it…Lex groaned, called his name, and pulled out. Whit felt heavy hot drops splatter across his back—Lex let him pull back and finish himself off, and when Whit came he was certain Lex whispered his name. _His_ name….

II  
Graduation came, and Whitney's name was announced, along with the news he had the honor of winning an athletic scholarship to Metropolis University. At least that much of his future he knew—he was going to Met U in the fall. Lovely.

His parents were happy for him, or relieved, hard to tell. His dad was still a little weak; the heart attack he'd had a few months ago had been a shock to all of them. His parents had been in a tailspin for a while, but now things were back on track for them…life was looking up a little. A miracle had occurred, in the form of a brand new research program in Metropolis that seemed designed to benefit his dad. It couldn't have come at a better time, and of course his dad's doctor recommended him and of course he was admitted. Whitney had felt very little surprise.

No…no…truthfully, he'd been confused….

While his dad and mom were making pre-admittance arrangements at Metropolis Hospital, Whit was spread eagled on his back across a cherry-wood desk in an office at LuthorCorp, Lex watching from his leather desk chair as he jerked himself off. He didn’t have to be told to lick his hand clean. Whitney thought it was a small price to pay—a ridiculously small price, for both the scholarship and the medical help. He didn't talk about it and neither did Lex. Whit was afraid to touch it, this sudden almost generosity. It felt like maybe a creeping toward something more...or wishful thinking on his part. Best not to examine it too closely.

 

Chapter Five

I  
Summer's sun was at its height—it crisped lawns and fried tempers. The heat and humidity made the air feel like superheated damp wool in his lungs--felt like he was swimming as he moved up the sidewalk. Sweat beaded along his hairline, with every movement, rivulets rolled down his back, his ribs…

All he wanted was a cool place to sit and something sweet and crammed with ice to drink. He slouched towards the Beanery, the closest cool place he could get to without expending too much energy. Head down, watching his feet, he heard Lex's Porsche before he saw it. He lifted his head just in time to catch Clark burst out of the Beanery doors, looking too goddamn happy. The Porsche pulled up to the curb with a screech of tires, and an icy blade run up his spine as Clark jumped in next to Lex. He was smiling, a huge happy smile, and Lex didn’t even glance Whit's way. He knew that he was there, fucker, he passed him to get to his fucking boyfriend. The car pulled away from the curve, and was gone. Zero to sixty in three point seven seconds….

Ten hours later, the Porsche was being wiped down in the garage, and Whit was sitting on the floor of the study, flipping playing cards into an empty bowl. Lex raised an eyebrow. "That bowl you're flinging cards into cost more than what you make in—a year." Whit heard that Lex was just making an observation, not scolding, and he grinned, threw another card. Lex sat and tugged his tie loose, and said, "Clark would never touch my things like that. He'd never take them for granted like you do."

Whit looked up, flung a card and smiled. "It's only money. Your money."

"It's art. It's beauty. It's something that gives the eye pleasure. Aren't you afraid of breaking it?"

"Do you worry about breaking beautiful things?"

Lex snorted and stood. He walked to the study door and locked it. "Don’t talk anymore," he said.

"Fuck you. Where did you go with him?" he asked.

Lex was slipping the cufflinks from his cuffs. He stopped and raised an eyebrow. Looked down at Whitney. "Where did we go? What business is it of yours?"

"Can you talk to me like we're normal people for just once? I want to know what you did. Where did you and the little prince go?"

"Shut up," Lex murmured and opened the first few buttons of his still crisp shirt, and looked thoughtful as he folded over his sleeves, and almost more to himself than to Whit, he answered, "Where _did_ we go…we spent some time at the Museum of Modern Art. Clark had an assignment to write a paper on an artist of the Impressionist period…" Lex handed his cufflinks to Whitney. Whit stared at them, and held them in his hand. "He chose Georges Seurat and the Met Art has a few nice pieces…I thought it would help him to see the actual thing. Feel it, in a way. Experience the beauty."

Whit tightened the hand that held the cufflinks into a fist, squeezed tight until it hurt. "I like paintings," he said, and cursed himself. He felt red rise in his cheeks--even to his own ears he sounded like a ten year old. That was how to lose points with Lex—be too direct. Too needy.

Lex stopped walking and looked at him. "I'm sure you do," he said, and pulled his shirt tails loose of his trousers. "Would you like to hear more?"

He walked away, towards the wet bar and Whit said, "If you want to tell me."

Lex bent, opened the fridge and took a bottle of water out. He cracked the seal and drank. "We went to lunch afterward. Clark had Cornish hens with an apricot glaze, and since it was early for me, I had a salad."

Whit leaned against the legs of the couch and frowned. "You don't like to eat before six…you never eat lunch…but Clark wouldn’t want to eat alone…"

"Umm. After lunch, we walked around Centennial Park, and talked about life after school."

Whit looked up at him. "He's going to be a sophomore next year. How much does he need to think about after school now?"

"Clark has a calling—a destiny. I know he's going to do great things. It's never too early for him to think of his future."

Lex drank again, and Whit tried not to watch him, but Lex took the tip of the bottle in his mouth like he took the tip of his cock, it made him shiver. "What did you do then?" he asked gruffly, and Lex smiled. The tip of his tongue swept around the narrow opening of the bottle and dipped in briefly. His eyes glittered when Whit shuddered.

"Then," he said, "we drove the three hours back—straight home without deviation, and I dropped him off in his driveway and he squeezed my shoulder and said, thanks Lex, you're the best friend ever and I drove back here to find you sitting on my doorstep. Looking at me like you couldn't wait to suck my dick."

Whit smirked. Clark got the trips and dinner and Lex's charm and respect and longing, he got his cock. At the moment, he wasn't seeing anything bad about that. Later, he'd feel like shit but that didn't matter. Right now, he just wanted all of Lex he could get. Lex stood over him with a smile, and offered him the bottle of water. "Thirsty?"

Whit took it, took the neck of the bottle into his mouth and tilted his head back, drank half the contents and licked stray drops from his lips. When Lex took his chin in his hand, he reached up and unzipped him, pulled out Lex's cock and took him in his mouth the same way. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of heat and hardness sliding in and out of his mouth; over his tongue…he relished the press of his lips against his teeth, the way they ground against his teeth as Lex lost control and pushed in deeper, faster…he opened his eyes and watched Lex's face shift, his eyes get dreamy and distant.

There was nothing in Whit's world except the feel of Lex's cock—arousing just because it was his—he pulled back and painted Lex's cock with his tongue from the base to the tip, traced every vein and bump and crease as he did, licked and sucked and tried to get Lex right into his throat. What had been punishment was now something he needed—he had to have the taste of Lex, the smell of him, the heavy weight of his cock thrusting into him…

Lex drove his hips forward and Whit groaned, that small movement sent a flash of heat through him, his cock was aching, leaking…he groaned around Lex and Lex told him, "Do it, come for me." And seconds later he was pumping hot come into his own hand and Lex was hissing and filling his mouth—the taste made aftershocks race up and down his spine—

He pressed his hot, swollen mouth against the cool skin of Lex's belly, teasing him, and keeping his eyes on the smooth creamy skin in front of him, asked Lex, "Do you ever think of Clark while you're doing me? Do you imagine this is his mouth?"

Lex bent his head and watched Whit lick little patterns on his skin. "No. I don't."

Whit stopped. "No? But…."

Lex sighed and pushed away from Whit. He gathered his clothes and handed the pile to him. "Dress. Go home Whit," Lex said, and turned his back.

II  
Lex cared. Whit was sure. He cared; he did this because he cared. Clark might be his obsession, his vision of perfection, but he was his lover. He was the reality in Lex's life. Lex wanted him…liked him. He was sure.

 

It was a slow Sunday afternoon, and Whit decided to take a chance and show up at Lex's. He'd not been turned away the last few times he came without being called for—he gambled that Lex was as bored as he was. Maybe they'd even do something else besides fuck. He laughed. It could happen….

This time, Whit got as far as the front door before being made to wait while the fucking butler or whatever the hell he was supposed to be asked Lex if he should send him up.

Whitney was bitterly sure that Clark waltzed right past this guy every fucking time he came to the castle and the fucker probably smiled in his god damn face, offered him tea and cookies, whatever--sure as hell didn't call ahead to see if _Mister_ Luthor was available. Fuck, Mister Luthor was always waiting for golden boy--probably halfway to hard just hearing his fucking name….

He stopped in the study doorway and watched Lex for a bit--he was staring at something on his desk—he looked up at Whit's tap on the door frame, his expression was pinched and cold, distant. "Whitney." He looked at Whit for a long moment, and then…smiled. "Come in."

Whit smiled back, relieved. "You know, that butler of yours is an asshole—when is he going to stop acting like I'm coming to steal the silver--"

The smile melted away like snow. "One person, Whit. Only one person is allowed the run of the property." Lex was turning an odd piece of metal over and over in his fingers and his expression changed again, he looked…weird. He threw it into a small gray box on his desk and said, "I need something from you, Whitney." He picked up the box and moved to a painting on the wall that Whit knew hid a safe--he'd watched it being installed.

Whit laughed, still feeling the sharp shards of Lex's words lodged in his chest. "You're _asking_ me for something?"

Lex stood still, relaxed, and waited out Whit's laughter. He said, "I want you to leave. Get out, go act like a kid should—act like you’re leaving for Metropolis to start school, act like some girl means something to you—just—be normal. Have a life." He pulled back the painting, and opened the safe.

Whit sat back on the couch and stared. "Are you setting me free? Is that it? You're finished—or just bored?" The icy feeling in his chest expanded--Whitney felt like he was being cracked open--stupid. Of course it had to end. He should be glad. He was free of this sick thing they had. He was free of depending on this sick, sick shit….

"I'm trying to be…decent. I do know how to be decent, no matter what other people seem to think." What he said next seemed to be worlds away from what he'd been talking about. "Tell me, do you know what you want out of life, Whitney?"

"Me? I don't want anything. I used to want to be…a big deal. Used to dream about it, making it, getting out of Smallville. Now I know I can get out of Smallville anytime I want, I can be whatever I want to be and I know I don't care _what_ people think, and I don’t care what my _parents_ think…and I don't care what _you_ think, either."

Lex laughed. "Good for you, Whitney. Don’t ever worry about what people think. Do what's right for you." He pushed the metal box inside the safe and locked it again. "Do what needs to be done, for you." He turned back to Whit. "You know, Clark--"

Whit groaned inside. If murder wasn't illegal, he'd kill both of these fuckers and bury them in a grave together, so they could be together for eternity. Rot together forever.

"He doesn’t seem to be as clear as you are about what he wants. That's a shame. It leads to confusion, dissembling…be clear what you want Whit, and beware of what you ask for."

"Thanks, Mr. Miyagi. Do you want me to leave, or do you still need an audience for your monologue?"

"You really are a sarcastic little bastard, aren’t you? I kind of like it though. It's a nice change."

Lex reached out to Whit, pulled him close, twisted his fingers deep in his hair, "So thick…so bright…your hair smells like sunlight, Whit…"

Whitney was astonished—that had been almost…a compliment, an endearment. Lex was in a weird mood today, he thought. He froze, afraid that Lex would change back into...Lex.

"I changed my mind about you leaving. About being decent," Lex said, and tightening his grip on Whit's hair, yanked hard.

Whit laughed, his eyes locked on Lex's mouth. "Good. I like you better when you're not being decent."

"Bastard." Lex scowled, but his eyes were full of laughter, and Whit reached up to touch Lex's cheek, drew his fingertips across the smooth swell, the tips dipped into the corner of Lex's mouth, and Lex moved back—Whit moved forward. He moved nearer and touched closed dry lips to Lex's.

"Don’t." Lex's lips moved against his as he spoke—Whit shivered and opened his lips just a bit, so that they matched top and bottom with Lex's.

"Don't stop me," he sighed into Lex's mouth, "I want to know. What it's like. Just this once." He increased the pressure slowly, and Lex whispered no again, and Whit ran the tip of his tongue against Lex's teeth, gently, and Lex opened his mouth enough that Whit could take the advantage, move a little deeper into a real kiss.

He couldn't help but groan—this was Lex's mouth on his, Lex's lips pressed against his, warming them, the taste—sweet, sweet and a little sharp, and it was incredible to touch him like this. He coaxed Lex's tongue into his mouth and pulled on it, sucked, teased, just the way he teased Lex's cock, and Lex knew it and groaned.

The taste changed, it was the taste of clean, and copper and his lip stung. Lex bit him again, rocked his hips against him. He was hot, and so hard…"God. Lex. I--"

"Shh." Lex tilted his head back, opened completely to the kiss, so slow, slow and dreamlike. The kiss was good, better than he'd imagined kissing Lex would be… Lex's warm weight against his cock sent slow waves of fire licking at him all inside, made him ache to have Lex inside of him. Now he knew why Lex had never kissed him before—kissing was dangerous. It was about passion, about love.

First kiss…he laughed inside…probably only kiss. Whit wanted it to last forever and ever and he wanted it to be just him and Lex, but he felt—he knew--he groaned and squeezed his eyes tight. He was there with Lex, soaking up his heat, the feel his cock against his, but he was afraid Lex wasn't with him—that he never was with him except when it hurt.

Lex's fingers moved under his shirt, scratched at his belly and crawled down into the loose band of his jeans. Whit held his breath and waited to feel Lex's fingers wrap around his cock—the minute Lex touched him he was moaning, and trying to fuck his hand. Precome smeared against his stomach, Lex's hand, spilled and ran down into his hair and sweat ran down his legs…his cock jumped and pulsed, come soaked into his briefs and into his jeans and he felt Lex come through the layers of fabric separating them, and he bit his lip viciously to keep from laughing.

He was dressed, come making his clothes uncomfortable and sticky. Lex was coming out of the shower, wrapped in a towel that looked thicker than his bed, the kind of towels that _real_ money bought. "Lex…"

"Whitney—enough. Don't ask."

"One question, that's all. One." _One, one, one...._

"Go ahead," Lex said, and looked exhausted and annoyed at once.

"Do you ever think--" Lex sighed irritably, Whit ignored the tight feeling in his throat—that little sound hurt. "—ever think of me—you know, when we do it."

Lex turned his back, and fiddled with the items on his dresser. "It's been a long time since I've thought of anyone but you." he said. "But don’t let it--"

Whit was already out of the door, and down the steps. He heard what he'd wanted; he couldn’t afford to let Lex ruin it for him.

 

Chapter Six

I  
"Clark has something no one else has," Lex said as he walked around the cave. Whit followed, watching Lex weave between the scaffolding supporting lights and catwalks. He paused every so often to examine the walls of the cavern. "He has some sort of connection to these caves—and he's lying to me. Me. I'm supposed to be his best friend. Why won't he tell me the truth..." He stopped and laughed bitterly. "Or at least lie a little better.

Whit stared at the floor the ceiling, the walls. Stared at a man making a fool of himself over some kid. Some kid he couldn’t ever touch…

"I know what he really feels—I feel it too. Why can't he be honest with me?" Lex turned and fixed Whitney with an ice cold gaze….

Whit shrugged, silent. He didn't give a fuck if Clark told the truth about whatever thing Lex wanted so much. He didn’t know why it was so important to Lex Clark be truthful when _he_ lied like breathing…Lex of all people should know that sometimes, a lie just had to be. Whit stared back at him, and Lex finally looked away and sighed. "Let's go. I need to drop you off. I promised Clark I'd spend some time with him today."

Clark. Whit turned without a word to leave the cave.

II  
The sun hung over his head like a white gateway to hell, spilled heat over everything. The air was crystal clear; the world was too bright. Whit dripped sweat into his tee shirt, sweat soaked the waistband of his shorts.

He was pushing a lawn mower over the wide expanse of back yard, back and forth, back and forth, letting the drone of machinery blank his mind. He had to get the fuck out of the house, away from people.

He pushed, and slowly, without wanting to, his thoughts centered on the upcoming year—on Metropolis University—on football. If it wasn't for Lex, he wouldn’t have gotten the scholarship, but things were different for him now. All the desire to play, the need to play, was gone. He wasn't even sure about Met U anymore, it was just the knowledge that Lex expected him to be gone come August that made him almost want to leave.

Whit pushed the lawnmower across another few feet of grass, bright green even in the searing sun because his dad watered it obsessively. Whit stopped and pulled the collar of his tee shirt up to wipe his face. Yeah, the Perfect Lawn Police were bound to give his dad the secret top prize, no doubt.

He kicked a fallen branch out of his way and started to push again. The roar of the mower masked any other sound, so he was startled when Clark suddenly appeared in front of him.

"Fuck. Kent, what are you doing here?"

Clark looked nervously about, hesitated before answering. He crossed his arms over his chest and said, "I want to know if Lex has been asking things about me. Talking about me."

Whit stopped and started to pull his shirt up to wipe at his face; halfway up, he remembered the line of purple bruises that meandered down his chest, a trail nipped and sucked into his skin, starting below his nipples. The cotton dragged against them, made them tingle, harden. He pulled the hem higher, and took his time wiping the sweat away. When he dropped his shirt Clark was staring. "About you? No, why would he talk to me about anything? I just do odd jobs when the regular staff is out."

Clark's eyes never left his chest. "You're more than that. Aren’t you his friend?"

"Friend? We barely talk. What is Lex doing, Clark, that has you nervous?"

"He's not doing anything." Whit heard the defensiveness in Clark's voice—sticking up for Lex. Clark wasn't sure about trusting Lex, but he was still trying to protect him. Well, he really shouldn’t trust him, should he, Whit thought.

Clark went on, "It's just…Lex seems to think I'm hiding something but I'm not."

Whit cocked his head at Clark. "And you want me to what…tell him you're not? Okay. How about next time I'm doing some work at the castle I just say, hey Mr. Luthor, Clark's a stand up guy, he's got nothing hidden. Will that help?"

"Whitney—never mind."

Clark turned to go and Whit called out softly, "Hey…are you jealous?"

Clark froze and even with his back to him, Whit could see how his words affected Clark. "Jealous? What's that supposed to mean? Lex can be friends with whoever he wants to."

"Sure he can. I didn’t mean anything," Whit smiled. He watched Clark drive back towards town, and wondered…how was it that Lex could be so obsessed with that kid and couldn't see, if he asked, Clark would fuck him in a minute?

Too bad.

Not his business.

III  
Whitney closed the window on the website, and leaned back in his chair. He propped his feet up on the trunk his mom and dad bought him, the trunk to take to MetU, full of shit he was supposed to need. He tossed the paper with his roommates' numbers to the floor—plenty of time for calling them later. He couldn't think clearly at the moment. Right now, he was bored and horny and angry.

Lex had called earlier to tell him not to come over, that he was going to be busy at the castle. 'With Clark' was unspoken, but it was Saturday, and Saturday was Clark Night at the castle. Bastard.

He swiveled his chair around, and sucked in a trembling breath. The only thing different about this Clark Night was Lex's order not to come at all…he usually was over at one, after Clark's curfew. That Lex didn't want him over meant…something. Maybe just as simple as Clark staying over, maybe…maybe it meant something more though…Whit turned back to the computer, called up the website again….

IV  
"Whitney. Can you get away overnight this weekend?"

Lex hadn’t called him in a few days, but he wasn't worried, because Clark hadn't acted any differently when he saw him after last Saturday. That told him that Lex, whatever he'd done with Clark, hadn't fucked him.

Still, Whit couldn't stop thinking about Clark staying overnight at the castle. He'd never stayed overnight, never slept in Lex's bed the whole night. Clark got to stay all night long, probably in one of the guest bedrooms. Probably jerking off a door or two away from each other. He bet Lex ordered the sheets untouched the next day. Probably slept in the bed and dreamed of his cock up Clark's ass.

He rocked his desk chair back and forth as he clicked through the site he'd bookmarked last week and returned to obsessively. He planted his elbows on his desk, rested his chin in his hands.

So Clark spent the night and they didn’t have sex, and now Lex was calling for him, and Whitney wondered what Clark had done wrong.

Sometimes, he hated Clark more now than he had when he thought he was trying to take the girl from him…he wondered if Clark had felt then like he did now, like he was in a competition he couldn't win.

"Can I get away? Sure, Lex. Of course."

V  
"I'm going to Metropolis with some friends. I won’t be back tonight. I have my phone if you need to get in touch with me," Whit told his mother, who looked up at him with worried eyes.

"I don't want you doing something wrong, Whitney, I don’t want you to get hurt." She looked nervous and upset, and Whit had no idea why or what to tell her.

"Mom, I'll be fine. We'll just go to a movie, go to the Met Galleria, get something to eat…nothing for you to worry about, okay?"

Whit…" His mom walked away from him, speaking as she walked. "I'm afraid for you. I know you're spending all your time with that Luthor boy. I don't like it. What do you do with him?

He was so angry, his heart beat hard, so hard it made his breath catch, his mouth tasted like copper. "Did I say I was going with Lex?"

"Lex Luthor," she frowned. "The kind of man he is…Whitney, I'm afraid for you. Tell me that—that everything is okay. You're okay, aren't you Whitney?"

He heard it. He heard, tell me you're not queer, tell me you haven't changed. "I'm going to Metropolis with friends. I'll be back Sunday." Whit thought, I'll beg Lex to let me stay with him. I don’t care what they think.

Whit started to go back to his room and his mother said in a tiny voice, "The loan that he helped your dad get—it was because he was grateful for the work you do for him—on his cars and…and…his house…"

"I'm leaving, Mom."

* * * * * 

Chapter Seven

I  
Clark definitely had to have done something wrong. It was the only explanation for—this. Whit turned from side to side, fascinated by just how not like himself he looked. He ran his fingers through his hair. It was hard to believe how much a simple cut could change the look—it fell over his forehead in a way that made him think of just getting out of bed, and sex and—he pushed his hair back and concentrated on the image in the mirror, himself in a tux.

A tuxedo made just for him.

He couldn't stop looking at himself. He looked…like he belonged to Lex. He had to admit, he looked good. A feeling of triumph swept him. Finally, Lex was finally acknowledging that Whit was something to him.

Of course the tux fit perfectly. Lex wouldn't allow anything else. Whit ran his fingers down the front of the shirt. He'd never in his life worn anything that fit him so well, felt that good against his skin. Rented tuxedos were a thing of the past. He grinned, and pulled a little at his bowtie.

Lex looked at him with approval, and smirked. "You seem a little nervous…here; let me fix your bowtie."

Whitney turned away from Lex to face the full length mirror and ran his hand over the bowtie, straightened it himself. "It's okay."

"Ah. I see it is."

Whit glanced at Lex's image in the mirror, and thought—fuck—he'd failed again somehow. Stepped on another landmine in the minefield that was Lex's personal relationships. He sighed and turned back to Lex.

Lex put his hands in his pocket and rocked back, looked Whit up and down, his eyes came to rest at a spot between Whit's chin and his collarbone. "I knew it would fit. You look…very good." He reached out and touched fingertips to Whit's cheek and without thought Whit leaned into it. Lex tried to be subtle about pulling away.

II  
The sun had set and it was very much cooler than it had been in the afternoon—Whit caught the coat Lex tossed him and was glad for it, the chill breeze just starting to pick up warned it was going to be a cold evening. They walked together to the limousine and Whit held the door open for Lex, and Lex smiled.

"You know the driver does that, don't you?"

"I don’t care, I wanted to do it for you," Whit replied as they settled themselves in the car. When Lex was relaxed, poured gracefully over the wide deep seat across from him, Whit said, "Can I ask what's going to happen now? Are you kidnapping me?"

Lex laughed. "Yes and in a way. I couldn't stand the thought of attending this charity event tonight alone and I'm very not interested in taking a woman…leads to danger and misunderstanding. I find my life in danger all together too frequently, and women sometimes mistake my curiosity for intention." He smiled, a slow lazy smile that had Whit immediately on edge. Lex smiled wider, and slid his foot free of his shoe, and slowly drew it up the inside of Whit's thigh. When Whit shuddered, Lex's eyes narrowed, he smiled the little twisted smile Whit knew was his alone.

"Yeah…and I'm not going to look weird walking in with you—what am I tonight? An old school buddy or something?"

Whit was trying for cocky, attempting to imitate that dry quality Lex had, but his voice broke a little when Lex's foot rubbed the top of his thigh, and gently pressed against his cock. Whit hissed and his knees spread like reflex. He slid down a little in the seat, spreading his knees wider and Lex's smile grew.

"They're boring, these charity events. They're designed to assuage rich man's guilt, 'help' the 'little people' but most of all, make contacts." At 'contacts' he kneaded Whit's rapidly hardening length. Lex sighed. "It's almost always about work, about business, no matter what we do." He rubbed harder, nudged Whit's balls with the tips of his toes and Whit dropped his head back and moaned quietly. "It's always business, Whitney." He continued to rub, and press, and Whit was uncomfortably hard in his pants, and in a minute he'd be uncomfortably wet in his pants. A tremor shook him—his cock jerked and was pressed by Lex's foot again. "Do it, Whitney. Let me see you."

Whit unzipped, pulled himself out. He spit in the palm of his hand and took a few strokes, before settling into a rhythm that would bring him off fast. Lex watching him would guarantee that he come fast.

The soft music playing in the background disappeared, the low gold light was gone, there was nothing in the world but the sound of his breathing, of Lex's, the slap of his hand over his leaking cock. His pants were at his knees and for a moment he worried about creasing the perfect trousers. And then, Lex was leaning over him, eyes closed and mouth wide, letting his cock slide into his throat. Whit groaned loud, all worry about being overheard gone. "Lex, oh god--" Lex's hands on his thighs kept him from moving, he twisted his tongue around and around the head of his cock, and Whit felt it building, an orgasm that was going to rip him apart. The feeling spiraled higher and higher, his cock jerked and jumped and Lex moaned in approval.

"Yeah, I'm gonna come in your mouth—ready—ah!" His eyes slammed shut, and Lex's hands pressed him hard into the seat. The only thing that moved was his cock, exploding in the wet heat of Lex's mouth.

For a few incredible seconds, he was gone, drenched in bliss. Lex tapped him on the knee to call him back, squeezed Whit's thigh. He leaned over and sucked a bite/kiss against the inside of his thigh, Whit's soft cock nuzzled against Lex's cool cheek. They were quiet for a minute, Whit kept his eyes closed and enjoyed the lazy moment.

"Ready for my turn?" Lex asked and Whit nodded, careful not to show how eager he was to taste Lex.

Lex removed his pants and folded them carefully and set them aside, preserving the knife sharp creases...Whit supposed the sight of Lex, impeccably dressed from the waist up, naked from the waist down, cock hard and bobbing between his shirt tails should have been funny but it wasn't. It made Whit ache--want him more.

"Turn around, Whit." He rolled a rubber down over himself and whispered, "Come here, sit on my dick." He laughed at himself. "Reliving my errant youth…it's been along time since I've fucked anyone in the back of a car."

"Idiot." Whit let out a breath he'd been holding, and worked his way down on Lex's cock, exhaling on each downward push, until every bit of Lex was inside him, he felt his smooth, warm skin against his ass—groaned when Lex flexed, worked his hands under Whit's shirt, slid down over his ribs…grabbed his hips. He felt Lex's mouth against the back of his neck…

"I'm watching…you're amazing." He felt Lex's fingers trace where they joined and Lex moaned, moved and Whit didn’t feel anything else anymore except the slide of Lex inside, hot and heavy, making him feel like he was burning up.

Shock after shock hit him, curled and burned inside him; he could hear the noises he made, needy, desperate….

"Shit! Careful, don't mess up—unh—jacket," Lex hissed as Whit clamped down on him.

"No talking," he growled. "Just fuck me."

Lex chuckled breathlessly, and fucked him, hard, fast, and in moments, he was trying to arch under him. Whit wanted to come, his body tried, every time Lex hit that spot inside him that flooded his senses, made electricity spark under his skin, he wanted to come. "I can't, I can’t—"

Lex groaned and whispered in his neck. "I don’t want you to; I want you to want me all night." He grunted, pulled Whit against him. Locked his arms around him and came with a breathy hiss. Whit threw his head back, concentrated on the sharp gasp against his neck, the rapid beat of Lex's heart against his back, the throb of his cock inside of him.

They redressed, Whitney eased back into the pants like he was pulling burlap on, he felt too tender, sore, empty--and the way Lex kept smiling at him--it made him want to scream, beg for more. He knew Lex could see how much he wanted. And that Lex loved it.

III

He was wildly hypersensitive to Lex's touch, Lex's smell, Lex's warmth…he was hard most of the evening, couldn't keep from shaking when Lex brushed up against him, and every so often, he shoved some weird thing masquerading as food into his mouth to muffle a moan. He gasped aloud once when Lex fed him something creamy on a cracker, and wiped it from the corner of his mouth. His cock twitched when he watched Lex lick it off his thumb.

The bastard was enjoying every bit of the twisted torture he was putting him through. The fucker was _trying_ to make him drop to his knees in front of these people and beg for his cock…Whit savagely bit down on some sort of fruit appetizer and chewed furiously. He knew Lex pretty well by now, he knew when he was being tortured.

What had that god-damn Kent done, that his scapegoat had to suffer for it now?

Lex left him and circulated, and after a few minutes disappeared through a door with a man Whit hadn't been introduced to. Whit relaxed, grateful for the chance to breathe…people drifted past him, tried to engage him in conversation, but he turned them away--smoothly, thanks to what he'd learned from Lex. He kept his eyes on the closed doors.

An hour passed before they exited, and Lex had the same blank expression, the kind of look he got sometimes after Clark left….

Whit waited while he worked his way back towards him, slowly, leisurely, calculated to make him angry, Whit knew—it worked. Lex passed him, cocked an eyebrow, and Whit sighed and silently followed him to where ever he wanted him to be.

They stopped in a shadowed area outside of the ring of light thrown by patio lanterns, and Lex told him to wait. "I'll be right back."

Whit rolled his eyes, but he waited, and this time, Lex was true to his word. When he came back, he carried a flute of champagne for him, a little cookie topped with a dollop of chocolate cream, and a warm smile, just for him. "Here," he whispered into his ear. "I think you'll like this very much."

Whit dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, _for whatever fucking thing that happened that required punishment, sorry for everything._

Lex looked at him, his face a blank mask. "You have nothing to apologize for," Lex said. "I need you to help me. Are you willing?"

The ice in Whitney's chest thawed instantly, all he heard was, 'I need you'. "Of course, what can I do?"

Lex turned him towards the patio doors. "That man by the table? He and I have been in negotiations for some time. I need his business; this merger needs to be painless. I have something he wants—you."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim wallet. "Here." He said, "This is cab fare…" he held out a fan of bills. "Will you take it or are you going to throw this at me?" His eyes gleamed as though they were sharing a private joke, but Whit didn’t find the reference the slightest bit amusing….

Lex's eyes softened. "Come back to the penthouse after…"

Whit nodded, and kept nodding and thought to himself it felt just like drowning, like he was sinking under water and his lungs were filling. Nothing had ever changed, and he'd always been less than nothing. He was just another one of Lex's things. Lex's toys. He was sinking deeper and deeper, and he was getting cold. If he was very lucky, he'd die right here in front of Lex, who was watching him like he was a particularly interesting specimen of something. He was beyond speech, intelligent thought, beyond anything. Lex took his speechlessness as acquiescence. He tucked the bills onto Whit's pocket, and said, "Go on. Go on with him." He looked squarely into Whit's eyes. "It's only one night, Whitney. What difference does a single night make, right?"

Whit felt like throwing up. He swallowed, hard. His lips parted…closed.

"Yes? Did you have something to say?"

Whit shook his head, and a hysterical giggle climbed into his throat. I can't talk, he thought, and bit his lip to stop it bubbling up. I'm stuffed with hay.

Lex tilted his head, and stood aside, watching…waiting….

Whit took a deep shaky breath, grateful for air at last, and hating, so much. He hated Clark so much he felt it like boiling water on his skin. Lex wouldn’t ever trade Clark off like this. But Clark was the magic one, wasn't he? Clark was sacred and everyone else was just so much meat….

"It's just business." He walked forward, smiling, looked back at Lex once, a quick glance. He looked like he'd been stabbed.

IV

In the cab, he thought, 'I can stop this, anytime I want.' Walking behind the man into an apartment building, he thought, 'I can just walk away, just leave….'

He asked, so Whit went down on him in the elevator. They stepped out into an apartment that Whit knew was not the man's home. Whit checked his watch—it was barely curfew and at home, everybody was probably just coming out of the movies, or the Beanery, they were getting into cars and heading out to the lake to mess around, make out, drink beer. Guys and their girls, having fun, thinking they were in love…the faint taste of champagne in his mouth was like a distant memory.

And here he was in Metropolis, getting fucked by a stranger because he was stupid enough to not want to mess up something for a jerk he thought…he'd meant _something_ to. Getting fucked because he was stupid enough to still feel something for _him_.

When he left the guy's apartment, he asked him for a hundred dollars. The guy looked surprised "--I thought Lex took care of that—" and then he smiled. "It's okay. It was worth it. Consider it your tip."

Whit gently fended off questions about his telephone number, did he want to get together again, ignored hopeful eyes and graciously accepted the guy's business card, and left him smiling. The guy waved at him as the elevator doors closed….

If he saw Lex at all in the next couple of hours—days—he'd _kill_ him.

He rode the elevator down, and fingered the bills in his designer made trousers. He glanced at his reflection in the elevator's glass wall, tousled blonde hair, lips red and swollen, a furtive look. He hardly recognized himself. He wondered if he looked like that leaving the castle… 'That's the face of a serious nutcase,' he thought. He stood taller; he ran fingers through his hair, straightened his tie, his shirt, re-buttoned the jacket and stepped out onto the lobby floor with his head high. At least some of the lessons Lex taught him were beneficial.

Once on the street, he took a cab, but only as far as the bus station rising like a glass and dirt incrusted island in the dark. Whit stepped out onto the diesel scented street, and risked breathing deeply, and felt finally, like he _could_ breathe.

He counted the remainder of the bills. Two hundred dollars—he inhaled air, drew it deep into his lungs…it was time to go home.

He sat on one of the plastic seats bolted to the wall outside the station and wolfed down a hotdog while waiting for the bus to Granville. He glowered at people walking by—he knew he looked out of place, a kid in a tux that probably cost their salary, chugging pop…

The bus ride home was the polar opposite of the limo ride into the city. Loud, a little cold, the air smelled of diesel and people… he watched the lights fly by in the dark, his head pressed against the chilly bus window. The expensive bowtie was wadded in a lump, smeared with mustard, and shoved in one pocket. His cuffs hung wide below the jacket sleeves—the cufflinks were somewhere on a street in Metropolis, and he hoped they cost a fucking ton. Most of the 'cab fare' Lex gifted him was still in his pocket—and when he got home he planned to go through the rest of the cash--get so fucking drunk, it'd take him a week to sober up.

He swallowed and grimaced--the pop had done nothing to take the taste of come out of his mouth.

He laid his head against the window again, and kept breathing, measured even breaths, just to be sure he was alive.

V  
The bus stopped in the black of the Smallville countryside. He got out at the crossroads on the edge of town, and when the lights on the back of the bus dwindled to small glowing eyes in the distance, he started walking, down the road, past the fields, over Loeb Bridge. He stopped for a moment, just to spit in the water, and walked on. He passed Main and headed out towards the new development. An hour later, he crossed over to the street that turned into a tree lined road, and that road led to a clutch of houses that had once been upscale until the newest development opened.

He was wincing and limping by the time he got to the house, somewhere on the driveway he'd kicked off the fancy useless shoes Lex had him wear. His parents were asleep. He walked through the house, to the kitchen, grabbed a few beers from the fridge. He went out to the back yard and sat on the picnic table his dad had made a few years back, when he was still in good enough shape to do stuff like that.

He sat drinking cheap beer, it was not even close to being as good as the stuff he drank at Lex's, but it was ice cold….Whit laughed out loud. Earlier in the evening, he'd been drinking shit that cost as much as his car, probably. He was wearing fucking _underwear_ that cost more than the clothes he'd left at Lex's. He got driven into Met in the back of a fucking limo that was fancier than his house and came back on a bus—he laughed again—and then, walked all the fucking way from town back home--

Whit was laughing hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. He pulled off the jacket, rubbed his face dry on it and threw it on the ground in front of him.

He jerked off in the dark. His nose was running, his eyes were still running and he grunted quietly as he came, letting come drip all over the fine gauge wool of the tuxedo.

He lay back on the rough wood table, his hands crossed over his stomach. He wiped his hands on the legs of the tux and figured, tomorrow, he'd bring it back to Lex and then, he could rot the fuck in hell for all he cared, the lying, backstabbing, twisted sick motherfucker.

 

Chapter Eight

I  
 _"What you did hurt…it hurt like…I can't even begin to describe what that felt like. But you know don't you, because it hurt you just as much as it hurt me, you dumb fuck. The tux is in the garage, thanks for letting me get that far in your house. I hope that fucking kid finds it, you son of a bitch. I won’t bother you again—and you'll have to find someone else to work your frustrations out on, because if you were trying to drive me off, well guess what asshole, it worked. Don’t ever call me, don't try to apologize. This is it. Lex—all debts paid off. Don't come near me. Ever."_

 

II  
Night, in bed, and he listened to the sounds of his house. The noise it made as it cooled, the hum of the television, the low murmur of his parents voices. The phone on his nightstand vibrated, but he ignored it. It could only be Lex….

He lay awake all night, and by morning, his mind was made up. He saw his path clearly.

His mom and dad were shocked at first, but his dad came around a lot quicker than Whit thought he would, and even seemed to be proud of his choice. They spoke more often now, and it was easier. Whit thought how weird it was that this brought them together, closer than football ever did. He realized that a part of his dad resented him succeeding at something that was out of his reach, had always been—but this…this was something his dad really understood.

So—his mom and dad knew, and through some odd twist of fate or the universe spitting in his face again, so did Clark. He'd run into Clark outside of the store, and somehow, ended up having a conversation about his future with a guy who had the most to gain by Whit losing everything…and he'd felt more comfortable talking to Clark than he'd had anyone else. He'd asked him not to tell anyone else. Clark seemed used to speaking in code; it was plain to Whit that he knew instantly that by 'anyone', Whit meant Lex.

"Why, Whitney? You have a scholarship to MetU, a great chance at pro ball. You're leaving in a few weeks. I guess it's not my place to question you, but I gotta say, I don’t understand it."

"It's just what I need to do, Clark." He sighed. "I think it's the right thing for me."

They walked along quietly for a bit and then Clark said, "Lex has been talking about moving back to Metropolis in September. Did you know that?"

Whit had the sensation of plunging into an ice bath, but his expression didn't change and his voice was even and casual. "No, why should I? He's Lex Luthor. He doesn't exactly unburden himself to me. Not like he does to you."

Clark cast a quick guilty glance at Whit, and slowed until Whitney had to slow too. Whit could barely hear Clark when he spoke. In a low, careful voice, he said, "I don’t want him to go."

Whit smiled. "Well, you better let him know that, Clark. I'm sure he wouldn't dream of leaving Smallville once he knew that."

III  
It was the morning he was leaving for boot camp. His papers were in an envelope on his bed, and everything else he needed was on his back. He stared at himself in his dresser mirror, ran his hands through his thick mop of hair, a little unruly as it outgrew the haircut Lex had ordered for him. He pulled it tight against his head, trying to picture himself with no hair. He dropped his hands and laughed. He never thought of himself as vain, but it was surprising how much the thought of losing all his hair bothered him. After all, losing his hair was nothing--in a few days, he was going to be a whole new person, with a whole new life, a whole new direction…he took a deep breath and turned away from the mirror. He gathered his papers, and looked around his room, the room he'd slept in for eighteen years, the room he dreamed his little kid dreams in and planned his grown life in. He looked, and was surprised how little it bothered him to be leaving it. He shut the door and headed for the stairs.

IV  
His parents saw him off to the station, and left before the bus came, just as he asked them to. He didn't want to make a scene, he told them. His dad winked and led his red-eyed mother away…looked a little red around the eyes himself. Whit watched them drive off, and wondered if he'd cry, later….

"Hello."

He smiled. He should have known—Clark always showed up when he most wanted him not to. "Checking to see I'm really leaving town, Kent?"

"You still haven't told him." His tone was almost accusing, and Whit rolled his eyes. What did this guy want? Whit rubbed his face and finally—gave in.

"If I told him, he'd stop it. Stop me." It was the closest Whit could come to telling Clark that yes; he and Lex had been—were--something.

Clark looked torn between smiling and scowling. "He would. He's a force of nature. He has powers…"

"Let's hope he only uses them for good." He laughed a little, was glad it didn’t sound at all bitter. The bus was coming, he heard the sound of its engine in the distance. Clark turned to Whit with eyes that looked a little guilty, a little relieved.

"Clark…do me a favor. I need you to look after Lex until I get back. You know he needs watching."

Clark looked flustered "Oh. Whit, I…I'm…"

"Promise." Whit felt a flicker of guilt, but just the barest flicker. Clark was almost too easy…he blushed and stared at the ground. The bus finally pulled up, and the door opened with a gasp, and Whit waited. "Clark?"

"I promise." he said, he looked pained, and guilty, so guilty, but he nodded.

Whit nodded too, turned and climbed aboard. He turned back to Clark, looked into his eyes, really looked, and said slowly, "Be careful, Clark." He seated himself, looked out the bus window. Clark was still standing on the curb. The bus started to pull out, and Clark waved at him once, turned to leave. Whit wanted to laugh.

He was always watching Clark walk away.

* * * * *

  
V  
 _Lex was frozen in place, hands clasped on his desk, smile pasted on his rigid face. "I'm sorry…what?"_

 _"Didn’t you know he left?"_

 _No, he hadn't. It wasn't odd for Whit not to call—he had a temper. He'd been…insulted. More than that. And now, he was in the position of trying to figure out how to get Whitney back without giving anything away. In fact, he was wondering if it might not be worth it to—to beg. A little._

 _Lex stared up at Clark and thought, how could Whit do this? Not to him, he owed him nothing—but to his family. To himself. He tried to pull his expression into something approaching normal. "No, why should I?"_

 _Clark nudged the Ledger article closer. "I figured it was okay to talk about it now that everyone knows."_

 _Lex snagged the article and pulled it closer. Clark knew all along, and he hadn't said a word? The picture of Whit in his dress uniform, his cap covering the lack of hair, his all American, peach and cream, non-exotic, corn-fed good looks made the rest of the article seem inconsequential. There was a brief blurb about his graduation, nothing more. "Thanks Clark, I'll let Enrique know to take his name from the staff roster," he lied smoothly._

 _Clark made a sound of surprise, he looked at Lex with a hint of anger in his eyes. "Come on, Lex."_

 _"Clark, what is it about this that seems to be angering you? I confess, I have no idea…though that does seem par for the course lately."_

 _Clark was actually glowering, Lex noted. "He kept telling me you guys weren't friends. I thought he was finally telling me the truth when he left, when he asked me to watch over you…"_

 _Lex was startled as much by the pain he felt as by the notion that Whit cared, even a little…after all that…_

 _Failed._

 _He failed Clark, he failed Whit, he failed himself because he refused to see. And now Whit was off being a grown up, and he was still in Smallville like an idiot, letting these good people try to kill him with the power of their brains--the weight of their contempt._

 _He turned his chair to face the windows, and watched clouds high above move ponderously, darkly across the sky. Rain spattered against the windows, running in wide rivulets over the glass —the ground would be wet…_

 _The salt of the earth, these people. The heart of America's heartland. Close to the earth, the rhythms of the seasons—simple, direct, pure and certain in their hatreds. Full of self righteousness, and bigotry and narrow-mindedness…he eased his aching fist open, and let the crumbled paper drop to the table…he stood and looked out of the windows that faced the drive. Clark was down there, standing on the drive, rain turning his hair in long ebony ringlets. He seemed about to turn his head, to look up at the windows…Lex blinked, closed his eyes for the barest of seconds and when he opened them again, Clark was gone. Of course._

 _Like Whitney. At least,_ he'd _had the sense to leave when it got to be too much. Lex leaned his forehead against the cool glass, eyes tracing the path of water down the tinted panes. He wished he had an ounce of the guts that Whitney had, wished he was a quarter as brave…that he had the strength to break away, no matter how much it hurt, or the pain it caused._

 _When he closed his eyes at night now, the face behind his eyelids was Whit's, and that was just…not fair._

VI  
Whit crawled along the roadside; the overturned truck lay a few feet behind them on the road. The driver was dead—Whit rubbed viciously at his streaming nose, his burning eyes--he doubted he'd ever forget the smell of burning flesh….

Bauer staggered past him, and Whit grabbed his arm. "This way—towards the river. The reeds'll provide some cover…"

Bauer looked doubtful, but he was moving behind Whit "This is pointless, Fordman," he gasped. "Base thinks we're dead. Fuck, we're _gonna_ be dead."

Another soldier came up behind them, moved with them. "Jesus! Shut the fuck up, Bauer. Fordman says we'll make it, then we'll make it." Smith scrambled down the side of the hill, and they hit the river, slogged into the water and whatever cover the reeds could give them. Whit waited a beat, but Smith shook his head. "We're it—the other guys are dead."

"Told you," Bauer gasped. "We're all dead."

"Fucking shut up about dying. We're gonna make it back home, you hear me? I'm gonna get back to—to--my folks. To Kansas."

"Motherfuck, Fordman. If I have to hear about wonderful, magical fucking Smallville, Kansas one more fuckin'ass time--"

Whit laughed breathlessly, winced as the movement made his ribs ache. They slogged on, the stagnant water drenching them. He glanced around and willed his ears to pick up sound all around him—he prayed that he'd hear the sound of rotors chopping at the air—prayed they'd be found by their own…

Explosions, one after another, echoed behind them, and Whit snatched at the soldier's arm next to him, "Move faster damn it—move it!"

They tried to run, the muck of the river bottom sucked at their boots, the water rose from their calves to their knees to mid waist, and Whit tried to urge them on faster. Now bullets zinged around them, hissed through the water—"Snipers."

He yelled into Bauer's ear, "We've got to get to the next ridge—scouts should be able to see the flare from there…."

Bauer nodded, "Yeah, that and a bloody fucking miracle will get us out of here."

"Don't give in, okay. Come on, just--"

The air vibrated, the ground shook—it was suddenly midnight. Whit's ears rang. The cloud of debris that blocked the sun settled.

"Aw, fuck!" Bauer screamed--eyes wide and locked on the ragged tear in his pants leg, watching blood pump in a steady stream. Whit glanced. He didn’t have to look closer to know it wasn't good. No point in talking about it.

"You're okay; you're going to be okay. Keep moving. Smitty, get up here--"

Another explosion tore any other sound out of the world. Whit glanced back to see Smith go down. Bauer began to cry, clutching at Whit's arm. "We're going to die; we're fucking done for--"

"No one's gonna die! I promise!" Whit had no idea if he heard him; Bauer suddenly went boneless in his arms. He slid out of his grip and Whit grabbed for him and then the whole world blew up in his face. Over, he thought, and it was.

Chapter Nine

I  
 _Whitney was dead. There was no body, they found nothing. He was gone into the air of some distant country…Lex watched Smallville mourn a native son, one of thousands lost on foreign soil. They remembered him, forgot everything but the good, but Lex held all of it, and treasured everything about Whitney, and decided. It wasn't enough._

 _What Lex decided would only seem obvious and workable to Lex, to an acquisitive, possessive mind, someone convinced of being above the law--of_ being _the law._

 _Lex didn’t feel bad about that, he saw it as some of his better qualities. It was what was going to bring Whit back. To him._

II  
"No one is coming for you, it seems. I guess you just don’t count for much, do you?"

Whit never figured a ransom would be paid. He knew that once captured, he'd be on his own—they had no official presence here and he knew he was dead the moment he'd been taken captive; he was just waiting for the day it became…official.

The slap dropped him to the floor, and sent jagged bolts of pain ripping from jaw to eye socket. The wound reopened and fresh blood ran. At least he wasn't going to die of infection, he thought. Today, it seemed, was the day.

They marched him out to the edge of what was left of the village, and made him kneel in a muddy field. The damp ground seeped through the knees of his BDUs. He looked up at the afternoon sun, the last one he'd ever see, and thought of Clark, for some odd reason. Clark kneeling in a wet farmer's field in the dark, ringed by a circle of tormentors. Whit looked around at the circle of armed men, and realized—he'd never apologized to Clark for what happened. He'd only apologized to Lex…

Tears filled his eyes, and someone jeered, called him a coward—they beat him. Through a haze of pain one thought was clear. This was payment. For what he'd done to Clark, for falling in love with Lex, for letting himself be betrayed by him. It had been a long round-about journey, but he was at the end now. He was sorry for what he'd done and for what he didn’t do. And if he had another chance, he'd fucking choose to be with Lex. He'd choose it again and again, if he had the chance....

He tried to laugh, spit out a wet gurgle as gray flashes crowded the sun out of his eyesight…shots rang out and he closed his eyes and waited.

"Fordman—Whitney Fordman? Get up."

He was yanked to his feet, his chin jerked up and twisted this way and that—opened his eyes to find himself face to face with a stranger. An American.

"That's him. Let's go."

Behind him, Whit heard the thump of explosives going off. He was dragged between two men, and then, lifted off, a dizzying flight into the air. He was in a black helicopter; sandwiched between black-dressed men. He snorted—he was being kidnapped by aliens? By…men-in-black? Why the fuck not?

The urge to laughter faded as he realized his situation might not have changed at all; that the men weren't regular military…they were the kind of soldiers anyone could hire for the right money.

The man who seemed to be in charge grinned at him, passed him a plastic bottle of water, and shouted over the noise, "Hello, Fordman. Ready to go home?" The bottle was impressed with the LexCorp logo.

He smiled wide, even though it hurt—what the hell, it was funny. He should have known Lex wouldn't really let him go.

III

"Why? Why did you rescue me—go through all that _expense_ to fucking come after me? Do you think I've forgotten anything?"

Lex leaned forward and spoke so softly that only Whit could hear. "Because I love you."

"Fucking liar. You don't try to _destroy_ the person you love."

Lex tilted his head, and looked at Whit like he was waiting for something to happen. "Well, that depends on what you think love is. If you think it's dancing in a meadow, holding hands and spewing declarations of undying loyalty, than I guess I'm going to continue to severely disappoint you."

"But that's just how you love Clark, isn’t it? Undying love, and putting him on a pedestal and treating him like a fucking…princess."

Lex nodded. "True, And yet the fact remains I love you. I _chose_ you."

Whit turned his face away, turned to the side, pressed his cheek against the stiff pillow casing. "You mean you lost, and I'm all you have left."

Lex moved closer to the bed, stroked the pillow case as if it was Whitney's cheek. "Whitney…it's true, and it's not. Clark's not gone, but I admit he might as well be. Whatever might have been between us never really had a chance. Not when he kept things from me, not when I kept things from him." He smiled and his hand drifted down the twisted side of Whit's face. "Not like you Whit. You never hid anything from me. You never kept a single thing."

Whit closed his eyes, and shuddered. "How could I? You made me give it all."

"Whit, Whitney…does it matter how? You did. And I loved how you gave so much. I want a chance to give as much to you." Lex continued, a fingertip stopping briefly in a newly made dimple, before ghosting over a raw track outlining the curve of his jaw. "I'm serious when I tell you that I love you."

"You're fucking hopeless." Whit growled. "I hate you."

For the first time since coming into the sterile little room, Lex smiled a genuine smile, one that warmed his eyes and made him flush slightly. "You know, in some cultures saving your life means I own you." He laid his hand on Whit's head, rubbed the close shorn stubble of his blonde hair.

"You see? You don't listen. Hopeless, clueless…"

"I can bring you home, for real. Back to Metropolis with me."

Whit grimaced. "Four years, Lex. I still owe four years of my life."

"Whitney." Lex shook his head and smiled, sadly, gently. "You don’t exist. You can be whoever you want, wherever you want…come back with me. Please."

Anyone he wanted to be…a new life…the opportunity to win back what he'd lost to Lex…Whit looked into Lex's eyes. "All right. I'll come back with you."

"I love you. Believe it."

Whit nodded. "I do."

Epilogue

Years later, on a cold, rain soaked night, while following Lex's tall, black clad figure out of the lobby of the Persian Hotel, some sort of Smallville learned radar, not quite faded away, made the back of his neck prickle…he glanced to the left, and saw him standing in the shadows. Whit smiled a little. He looked exactly the same--perfectly the same.

Whitney knew that the same could not be said for him. Tiny lines spidered out from the corners of his eyes, heavier lines curved around his mouth. He'd long ago filled out his lanky teenage frame, and in the cold, his leg hurt, his hands, even with the joints that Lex had replaced.

Lex was almost as unchanged as Clark; his skin was smoother, if that was possible. Freckles fewer, and he missed them…but the trade off was mapping the fine texture of Lex's so subtly changed skin. Sweat slick and gliding against his own, it was almost enough to make him come, that marble smoothness pressed against his cock; against his mouth…he felt himself stir and shook his head. Lex…he'd never be able not to want him.

Lex turned to Whit, eyes only on him. "He's out there isn't he?"

Whit nodded.

"Let him look. It doesn’t matter." Lex reached up and traced the long seamed scar left by a piece of shrapnel that'd skipped along Whit's cheekbone, very kindly not gouging his eye out. Lex kissed the gnarled path. "It doesn't matter," Lex whispered into his cheek, his warm breath floated over chilled skin and the touch was so sweet, his eyes drifted shut….

Fuck yes it does matter, Whit thought. It mattered that Lex was still with him, loved him enough to stay. Enough to let Clark become a flicker of vision behind his eyelids…

Whit opened his eyes and Lex was already walking towards the open car door, impatiently gesturing. "Hurry up Whitney, before we're soaked through."

Whit risked another backward glance and he saw Clark pushing into the crowds…walking away. He spoke quietly to himself, knowing Clark could hear him. "Keep watching over him, Clark."

9-24-2007


End file.
